Hello! I haven't written on here in quite awhile. I also haven't painted, taken a photo, twisted metal into jewelry, or sown more than a button. It's hard to write. It's hard to be creative. There's so many other things that vie for my attention. Dishes to wash, stores to shop, sites to surf, tv to watch. Who wants to cocoon themselves away with the frustrating solitaire of creativity?

Well, I do. Sort of. Sometimes. I want to tell stories and produce things. I wish there were a way to turn of the critic inside my head. The one who is so hard to outrun. She is on my back and it's rare that the speed of my thinking drowns out her cackling.

Do you know what I think every writer should do? Read. An artist cannot go through the world blindfolded, how can an author not read? I don't understand that. Maybe I can justify this lack of produce as a time of fallow. A time to let crops grow. A time to gather material. Ah, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

Press publish. Shut self up. Produce produced.

required reading

My job has many perks, one is that I get paid to read. Doing so I've found dozens of childrens' books that make me think "Everyone should read this!!" Next time you are hanging out in a bookstore you should mozy on over to the kids section, grab a few of the following, hunker down for a delightful stretch of picture book pleasure.

The Dot, Peter H. Reynolds
Ish, Peter H. Reynolds
Just like Heaven, Patrick McDonnell
The Gift of Nothing, Patrick McDonnell
Lost and Found, Oliver Jeffers
Today I will fly!, Mo Willems
My Friend is Sad, Mo Willems
Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Judith Viorst

This list will be ongoing, feel free to contact me with your suggestions.

cupcake

Lulled by the bath-water warm air my head dips down and for the space of a few heartbeats I rest. My body shivers itself awake with a twitch. Again, leaden eyelids fight a losing battle to stay open and my chin sinks down to my breastbone. This jerky dance of not quite awake leaves my brain cottony and my mouth empty. I walk to the door, shaking my head in attempt to clear it.

I walk briskly, trying to find a breeze or create my own. My golden heels click on the small concrete paths. Sidewalks never widened to accept the girth of the new American. Walkways that remind me what New York looks like in movies. These streets were never gilded or paved
with yellow brick. Rather they are grey with flecks of glass and sand making them sparkle in the sun. And abrade young knees like a cheese grater.

The streets are dark and leafy. Colors muted to shades of brown and black bearing only a shadow of their original brilliance. There are no streetlamps here.

I feel like I'm walking in a kaleidoscope. The leaves act as bits of glass, blocking what meager light remains. The gleam makes the environment more liquid than gaseous. I'm not sure whether I swam or walked, but my head was no clearer. I was in a fever dream of Manhattan, lost in a forest of brick brownstones and fluid light.

Stairways lead up to each impermeable brownstone. Everywhere are dark corners in which to hide and kiss. I remember walking here with Lucia; both of us all dolled up more for the world than for each other. I remember how we posed on stairways and kissed, and all I could think was what a good photo it would have been. What a pretty postcard we were.

The streets of the village braid in and around each other. They have no respect for the sensible grid of midtown. They loop and disappear, claiming pretty names and scant real estate.

The destination is my favorite bookstore. The shelves are jammed with original picks; the lighting is bright yet flattering, prices are excellent, and the folding tables outside hold unknown treasures. Doesn't hurt that it is across the street from Magnolia Bakery.

There is a line outside the famed confectionery. I ask the baker/bouncer who stands guard at the door whether they are closing. "Yes, we're closed. Good night" he tells me with a flash of white teeth in the dark night. "Oh, okay" I say, turning to cross the street.

"I was joking! Please, come in!" he yells an apology after me. I see that the bookstore is closing and wave a hand to him, "No, that's okay" I yell back.

My visit to the bookstore is brief. I don't want to keep them open late, so I leave quickly. As I exit the baker/bouncer is waiting for me. He calls out another apology, approaching this time. He wraps an arm around my shoulders,

"Please, I'm so sorry. Come in, I will give you a cupcake"

"Oh no, that's okay"

I get a whiff of the frosting on the humid summer air; the smell of sugar, butter, and fresh baking impossible to resist. I can feel vanilla butter cream melting on my tongue with a sandy crumble of dry cupcake.

"I don't have to wait in line?" I ask

"No, no of course not" He insists

"Well, okay"

books

KIRA, KATE, JENNY, and KEVIN sit in the tech office passing time till the lunch delivery gets here. JENNY has given her seat to KIRA in hopes that the latter will spill less food than usual. Jenny is now sitting on an upturned milk crate. KEVIN types on the computer not paying attention to the proceedings.

KATE

Oh my god, I'm so excited for this class now that I've read Atonement

KIRA

Yeah I loved that book

JENNY

I couldn't get past the first part

KIRA

See you just need to get past those first 80 pages, the rest of it is great. I'm really into Tender is the Night but it's a bit of a slog

KATE

Who's wrote that?

KIRA

Fitzgerald. Have you read The Great Gatsby yet?

Both respond at the same time, Kate with exuberance Jenny with ennui.

KATE

Oh my god, I loved it

JENNY

-meh- I didn't like it

KIRA and KATE in unison, in voices that sound more like gasps of horror

KIRA/KATE

What??

JENNY

Well, I thought the plot was boring and predictable, and I didn't like the characters

KIRA

Well, you suck

Jenny makes a noise of annoyance, Kate gives a surprised giggle

KEVIN

That's the best you could come up with? "You suck"?

KIRA

I thought you weren't listening because we were talking about books